


Under the table operations

by galaxyostars



Series: War of the People [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Original Characters - Freeform, Original work - Freeform, alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 06:13:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5237429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxyostars/pseuds/galaxyostars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What the population needs right now is unity - but when the military can't launch attacks to end a tiring war, more secretive solutions must be found to remove key targets within the opposing militants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the table operations

Her bare feet rubbed together, warm underneath this tropical island sun. Her drink was chilled, she was comfortable.

And her hair whipped across her face when a helicopter decided to land behind her. Naran frowned, picking up her smart phone, using it as a mirror to determine whom had landed without ever turning from her position. When one of the occupants of the helicopter emerged, she dropped her smart phone back onto the table next to her without much care.

Crisp, blue suit, carrying a brown brief case and showing how un-stylistic he could possibly be by wearing thin black sunglasses to 'compliment' it all? This guy had to be military.

"Naran Soprano," The man pulled up a chair without even asking her permission. She raised an eyebrow at the move.

"Military man I don't know and needs a better stylist if intends to blend in." Naran smiled as she took another sip of her drink. "I trust I'm not allowed to know your name?"

He shrugged. "I had an alias prepared, if you prefer?"

"If your style is anything to go by, I don't think I do." She sat up properly, pulling her knees up to rest her arms upon them. "I don't understand – these conversations are usually done with distortion protocols. Why the change?"

"A certain someone was impressed by your team's performance. Handing the money to you in person was apparently preferable after the oil rig's destruction, as opposed to simply wiring it to you."

"I'm not the team leader."

"My mistake." He shrugged again. "But they _are_ on this island."

Indeed they were, though David Horaim and Baxter Williams were currently in a hospital, Horaim watching over Baxter's recovery with a close eye – Baxter had been shot in the leg and torso during a quick fight with Isamai 'soldiers' whilst trying to secure Naran's sniper position. Horaim, being the doctor he was, demanded that the man "receive the best of care" - apparently the 'best of care' included him watching every little bit of care Ivorra State Hospital gave Baxter.

Naran's lips quirked up in a small smile as she thought of them – Horaim was quite smitten with the tech expert. A dangerous thing in this line of work, but nonetheless satisfying for them.

Urig Mills was here on the beach getting himself a drink at a cabana bar. He should be back relatively soon, if he wasn't currently drowning himself at the bar.

So that left Naran – the only one who'd decided get into swim wear. This decision was also how she found out that Mills couldn't actually swim. She left a reminder on her phone to teach him soon.

Despite being brand new at this "under the table operations" business, the squad was working well together. Becoming some what of a family. Or maybe they'd gotten closer working together to stablize a bleeding-out Baxter on the trip back from a desert wasteland.

"They're indisposed." She finally said to the military man. "But they do need the money."

"Then I shall leave this here with you." The blonde placed the briefcase onto the send next to her, the handle within her reach. "And I have a new contract for you."

"This best be left with the team leader. Of which I'm not." She laid back on the sunbed, putting her sunglasses on.

"But if you could leave this with Mills-"

A new voice entered the conversation. "Mills says his team needs to take a break so we can heal up and re-stock."

Urig Mills, the man in a red patterned shirt and shorts, was back with a beer in hand. He was a well muscled Isorn man (from a country where the Isamai militants originate, ironically), skin a darkened tan colour, and eyes naturally squinted. Though his hair was black, she could spot some grey patches.

At his words, Naran's eyebrow raised again, but she gave no comment.

"You must be Urig Mills." The military man stood, outstretching a hand. "Casey Donoven."

Mills looked at the hand and promptly ignored it, taking a swig from his beer bottle. "We share an employer."

The military man faulted a little, hand gathering in a fist before he dropped it back to his side, straightening himself. Plesantries weren't going to work very well with Mills. The Isorn preferred honesty – greetings for him were a waste of time.

"As I was telling your sniper, I have a new contract for your team, Mr Mills."

Mills nodded his head. "And I assume this is for your war effort?"

"Destruction of the oil rig has tipped the odds in the United Nations favour. The Isamai are retreating from the edges of Venaslaki homeland back to their territory. The plan worked."

"So what's the contract?"

Donoven (if that was his real name) smiled. "I can't say in an unsecured area. But," He pulled a black envelope from inside his jacket. "Briefings, mission specs, target IDs – all inside. All you gotta do is accept."

Mills chuckled. "Can't accept it if I don't know what it is. And I'm not about to go accepting jobs from military contractors when my computer expert is out of commission for a while."

"All I can say to you here is that it's off the books. You're not a military contract – just . . . good samaritans. Doing the world a favour."

It was Naran's turn to laugh. "So your superiors don't want to make the hard decisions lest your get 'bad publicity', huh?"

"I'll admit that we're struggling a little with the amount of stone-walling we've been getting."

"You lose the support of your people, you lose the war," Mills crossed his arms. "Isamai don't have that problem."

"What the population needs right now is unity. The voices say to launch no attacks, else jeopardize the Isorn people. And, no offense to you, Mr Mills, but Isorn people is a tiny percentage of the world. Five years, we've been fighting to keep the Isamai off our soil, and you assisted with that effort with the destruction of that oil rig. But what's to say they don't rebuild it? Every few months, there's a 'lone terrorist attack' within a major city or school, and the militaries are growing tired of it. We can't send troops in to annihilate these bastards for the fear we'd endanger the good people of Isor, because public opinion is a thing that hinders the big forces now. But a small strike team? Taking out key individuals? It's just like a game of Jenga. The balance will tip. "

"That's a nice speech," Naran noted, flipping her over her shoulder. "But according to you guys, we're expendable."

"Definitely gonna need to be paid more." Mills agreed.

Donoven nodded. "On that we can agree. Every target means a pay check. It's not time sensitive, and we don't want to know when it's completed. Just as long as it's done before they declare the war to be over."

Naran looked at Mills. The Isorn was thinking, looking at the envelope within Donoven's hand, before he finally caught Naran's view. "I'll consider it." He snatched the envelope from Donoven's hands.

"Grand!" Donoven's hands clapped together. "I'm sure we'll hear from you soon."

"Not too soon, I hope." Naran smirked.

The military man walked away with a mock salute, turning on his heel and heading back to the helicopter. Within moments, it'd powered up again, taking off as Mills took the seat Donoven had occupied prior.

"Briefcase for the money?" Mills asked.

She nodded. "Twenty grand each."

"Sweep it before we open it up. Last thing we need is for it to go off when we get into proximity of Williams and Horaim."

"I don't think bombs work like that, boss."

"Eh, you never know." He sighed, tapping the envelope onto is other hand. "Want to make a couple extra?"

"Sure." She took a sip of her drink. "But if we're taking multiple marks, I want a pay rise."


End file.
